Trailing Clouds
Does not deserving
come with birth?Trailing clouds of worthiness,
we arrive as innocents.
But the child shrinks and slackens,
bludgeoned with her culture.
Her spirit contracts and hides,
she forgets her worthy self.
Were worthiness a shirt,
she could wear it next to her skin.
Were worthiness a liquid
she could drink it every morning.
She must learn the nectar,
She must sew the garment.
Her earthling task:
to celebrate her worthy self.
©Susa Silvermarie 2022
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